Mis Petites Amores: Stitched with Prayer, Mended with Love

Mis Petites Amores are not just hand-sewn stuffed rabbits; they are tangible pieces of a mother's heart, stitched together through love, loss, prayer, and unwavering hope. Each one is made with intentionality, reflecting the quiet but profound ache of a mother who carries the weight of a broken dream—a dream that sometimes feels lost in the face of addiction, struggle, or estrangement.

When I first made my first Mis Petites Amores bunny, it was born not just from fabric and thread, but from my own battle with brokenness. The seams were crooked, the stitches uneven, and the body misshapen. Yet, in its imperfection, there was beauty—just as in the midst of my own pain, I have learned to find hope. As I carefully mended every stitch, I felt God speak to my heart: “See, this is what I am doing in the life of your daughter. I am mending her stitch by stitch, and your prayers are the needle and thread by which I do this.”

This was not just a craft—it was a sacred calling. It became my ministry, a way to lay down the silent suffering of a mother who has experienced the heartache of watching a child make destructive choices. My daughter, lost to addiction, estranged from me for years, has been the focus of my unceasing prayers. There is no greater pain than watching a child you once held close drift away, wrapped in the grip of something that you cannot fix. In fact, it has extended to all of my children and grandchildren. They are my heart.

The memories of my sweet baby—the first time I held her in my arms, the dreams I had for her future, the hopes I carried for her life—those are what fuel me now. As mothers, we are bonded to our children in ways that go beyond biology. We are quantumly entangled with them, as God designed us to be. We carried them within our own flesh. Their hearts beat in sync with ours, even after birth, even after distance, even when they walk down paths we never imagined they would tread.

The silent suffering a mother endures is often invisible. It is the heartache that comes when someone suggests, in a well-meaning but hurtful way, that we could have done something to prevent our child’s decisions. The pain of hearing others criticize, judge, or assume that somehow it’s our fault is a grief that cuts deep. No one truly understands the weight of this sorrow—the fear of seeing the person you once knew slip away, replaced by someone you cannot reach. It is a pain that is both fierce and quiet, a suffering that feels so isolating, because there are no words to fully describe the heartache of a mother who mourns her child every single day.

And then, there is the bitterness of watching other families, seemingly unscathed, live lives where their children flourish, where addiction and other dark struggles are not their reality. It’s the crushing weight of comparison—the aching longing to see your child in a place of peace and wholeness, knowing that it’s not your reality. It’s the deep, often quiet, question that gnaws at your heart: Why can’t it be like that for us?

There is no worse grief than the reconciliation you make every day as you mourn the loss of the child you once knew—the child who held promise and hope, whose future you dreamed of. And yet, they are still living and breathing, walking through life, but not the person you had hoped for. This is the mourning of a living death, a death of dreams, of hopes, and sometimes, it feels like the death of the child themselves.

That is where Mis Petites Amores came from—out of that deep ache. When I hold these bunnies, I pray. I pray for healing, for restoration, for reunion. I pour my love into each stitch, believing that each prayer is a needle in the hand of God, stitching my daughter’s brokenness together, bringing her closer to healing. It’s a slow, steady work, but I believe that God is mending her—stitch by stitch, prayer by prayer.

But these bunnies are not just for mothers like me. They are for anyone who has experienced that deep ache—the silent suffering that comes with loving someone who is lost, broken, or lost to addiction. Each bunny is uniquely individual, just like the child it represents. No two are alike, because no two children are alike, no two hearts are alike.

And this is the message I want every mother to hear: You are not alone. Your pain is seen. Your grief is not unnoticed. God is with you in the darkest of nights, working in ways you may not see, stitching together the pieces of your heart.

Mis Petites Amores are reminders that the brokenness we carry can be transformed. They are prayers stitched into fabric—woven with the love and faith that one day, in God’s perfect timing, there will be healing. And even in the silence, in the waiting, God is working. He is mending, He is restoring, and He is making all things new.

Each bunny is a prayer, a symbol of faith, a companion for the journey of those who know what it means to suffer in silence. For every mother, every broken heart—there is hope. And you are not forgotten.

xoxoxo - Seaora